by Rajiv Joseph
Tiger looks at him. Lights illuminate a garden in Baghdad. The garden is filled with large topiary animals, carved out of hedges, but they are ruined, burned and skeletal.
Bombs go off in the distance. Tiger examines the topiary.
Scene 4.
Tiger, anxious, terrified, wanders the garden of topiary. The bombs in the distance cease. He looks around at the garden.
TIGER: (trying to pretend he’s not scared) It would have been better to have died young.
I’m an old ghost!
There’s a gang of teenage rhesus monkeys down at the zoo who got blown up by an IED, and they’re carrying on like a bunch of morons, milking the afterlife for all it’s worth.
You want my advice? Die young, die with your friends.
It’s the way to go.
(referring to topiary) I mean, what the fuck is this supposed to be? Animals made out of plants? Vegetative beasts? I’ve been walking around this city for days now, taking it all in, and nothing was very much of a surprise until I wandered into this garden here.
I mean ... Who does this?
People. First they throw all the animals in a zoo and then they carve up the bushes to make it look like we never left.
Insult to injury. Insult to injury.
Bombs go off in the distance. Tiger cringes behind a hedge. The bombs cease.
TIGER: I don’t know why I’m so scared. You figure getting killed might be the last bad thing that can happen. The worst thing. I’ll tell you right now: it’s not the worst thing.
See, all my life, I’ve been plagued, as most tigers are, by this existential quandary: Why am I here? But now ... I’m dead, I’m a ghost ... and it’s: Why aren’t I gone?
I figured everything just ended. I figured the Leos ... just ended. The suicidal polar bear ... bones and dust.
It’s alarming, this life after death.
The fact is, tigers are atheists. All of us. Unabashed. So, why am I still kicking around? Why me? Why here?
It doesn’t seem fair. A dead cat consigned to this burning city doesn’t seem just.
But here I am.
Dante in Hades. A Bengal tiger in Baghdad.
(beat) You didn’t think I knew Dante, did you?
Now that I’m dead, I’m having all sorts of revelations about the world and existence. Things just appear to me. Knowledge, the stuff of the universe, it just sort of floats into me ... Or maybe I’m floating into it.
But it doesn’t help. No matter how much I learn, I’m still trapped.
I just thought I’d be gone by now.
Why aren’t I gone? Will someone please tell me why I’m not gone from here!?
Far off in the distance, the Muslim call to prayer is still heard. Tiger listens to it.
TIGER: You hear that? That call to prayer? A constellation of minarets surrounds this garden, each one singing in a different key. They come in like a fog, five times a day. Different mosques, all over the city, calling out to God, voices intermingling in the air.
When an atheist suddenly finds himself walking around after death, he has got some serious reevaluating to do.
The call to prayer continues.
TIGER: Listen!
Calling out to God in this mess.
God.
Can you believe it?
A loud bomb goes off and Tiger instinctively covers himself with his arms, and then looks skyward.
Scene 5.
Kev lies on a hospital bed.
Tom enters.
KEV: Tommy?
TOM: Hey. What’s up.
KEV: You’re back.
TOM: I came back.
Check it out. Bionic hand.
KEV: Holy shit.
TOM: They do you up right. I’m like Robocop.
KEV: Why’d you come back?
TOM: Didn’t want to go out like that.
Besides, I had stuff I needed to get.
KEV: Like your toilet seat?
TOM: Yeah, that’s one thing. And my gun.
KEV: Let me see your hand.
TOM: Check it out.
KEV: That’s badass.
TOM: Yeah.
KEV: They’ve had me in here like a week now.
TOM: What happened?
KEV: It was fucked up.
TOM: Yeah?
KEV: We were doing these night raids? And I went around the back and booked it upstairs? I go in this room, this motherfucker comes out from under the bed. Clocked me in the face. I was out. Next thing I know, I’m on my way here.
I wanna get back, you know? This is bullshit. But they keep running tests. They keep telling me they’re running tests.
TOM: Yeah.
KEV: How was America.
TOM: It was all right.
KEV: You get any Mickey D’s?
TOM: Yeah, I got some. Right before I came back.
KEV: What’d you get?
TOM: What did I order?
KEV: Yeah, at Mickey D’s.
TOM: I don’t know. Big Mac.
KEV: Big Mac combo?
TOM: Yeah. With the fries and Coke.
KEV: I always get McChicken combo.
TOM: Yeah, that’s good, too.
KEV: What else you do there.
TOM: I don’t know. Got this.
KEV: You get your dick wet?
TOM: No, man.
KEV: You didn’t? All the way back to the States and you didn’t? You even see any bitches back there?
TOM: Yeah, sure. At the hospital. My nurse.
KEV: You tap that?
TOM: No, man.
KEV: You didn’t tap that?
TOM: No, man, Jesus. I got surgery for my hand, okay? I wasn’t thinking about getting laid.
KEV: I wish I could get some pussy.
TOM: Yeah. Sure.
Long pause.
KEV: You know that tiger?
TOM: Yeah.
KEV: I shot him with your gold gun.
TOM: Yeah, I know. I was there. Remember?
KEV: I’m just saying.
TOM: You have it?
KEV: What?
TOM: The gold gun, do you have it?
KEV: Not with me.
TOM: Not with you?
KEV: I told you, man. I’m out on a fucking night raid, next thing I know I’m on my way here. It’s not like I had time to pack, you know what I’m saying?
TOM: Where’s the gun?
KEV: Somewhere safe.
TOM: Where?
KEV: I don’t know man, where’s your toilet seat?
TOM: None of your business, Kev. Where’s my gold gun?
KEV: You know what, man? I saved you. Okay? I saved your life.
TOM: I don’t care what you did, where’s my gun?
KEV: It’s in your momma’s ass.
TOM: What?
KEV: I said, your gun? It’s shoved up your mother’s ass. She put it there herself.
TOM: Kev. Do you know that my mother is dead?
KEV: She is?
TOM: Yeah.
KEV: Aw shit man, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to go off on the moms. I was just saying, you know? I thought you came to visit me and see how I was doing and catch up and everything.
TOM: The gun is mine. I want it back.
KEV: You got your toilet seat! That’s gotta be worth way more.
TOM: We’re not gonna argue about this.
KEV: You should just give it to me. Be a decent fucking guy, you know? I killed a tiger with it.
Tom sticks his prosthetic hand in Kev’s face.
TOM: Look at this. Look at this, motherfucker!
KEV: What? God, what’s your problem?
TOM: I lost my hand! It’s gone, do you get that, asshole?
KEV: Yeah, I know, I can see! I was there!
TOM: I was gonna go home and work for my uncle. What am I supposed to do now? I lost my right hand!
KEV: Dude, that thing is top of the line. You’re like Robocop.
TOM: No I’m not. I’m a
stupid handicapped jerk. I didn’t even get a Purple Heart.
KEV: That sucks.
TOM: Yeah, that sucks. So I got some gold that I can get and so maybe I have a fucking livelihood when I get back.
KEV: A livelihood?
TOM: Yeah, that’s like what the meaning of your life is.
KEV: So what, your livelihood’s gonna be having a gold toilet seat and a gold gun?
TOM: No ...
KEV: Cause that sounds like kind of a wack-ass livelihood, you know?
TOM: Just shut the fuck up about it.
KEV: Tommy, you ever think about him?
TOM: Who?
KEV: The tiger.
TOM: He bit off my hand.
KEV: You ever see him?
TOM: What?
KEV: You ever see the tiger? Like just hanging around?
TOM: ... The tiger.
KEV: Yeah. Or talking.
TOM: What are you talking about?
KEV: I’m asking you a question!
TOM: Yeah, what? What is your question?
KEV: I’m asking you!
TOM: What?!
KEV: I’m asking you, you ever see that tiger around or anything?
TOM: The tiger is dead.
Tiger enters, sees them, but hangs back, doing his own thing.
KEV: I know the tiger is dead, I killed the fucking tiger. I’m asking you if you ever seen him. Like his ghost.
TOM: No, Kev. I’ve never seen the tiger’s ghost. I don’t believe in ghosts. Especially I don’t believe in animal ghosts.
KEV: I got to tell you something, man.
TOM: Jesus. This is why everyone hates you, Kev. Cause you’re a fucking idiot.
KEV: Seriously, man, can I tell you something? You’re like the only person I can tell this stuff to.
TOM: I don’t even really know you, man.
KEV: Can I just tell you something? Please?
TOM: Fine.
KEV: I mean I’m trying to tell you something!
TOM: I said fine! Okay!
KEV: Trying to be like a normal guy, you know? Trying to tell you something. Something wack. Something kind of wack, okay?
TOM: Would you just tell me?
KEV: Okay.
(beat) So look. You know I said I was on that night raid?
TOM: Yeah. And the dude came out from under the bed and whacked you upside the head. I know.
KEV: Okay, so I’m like lying there, right? And the dude takes off, right? So I’m alone in the bedroom.
TOM: You’re alone in the bedroom.
KEV: And the ghost of that tiger walked into the room ...
TOM: The ghost of the tiger ...
KEV: I’m telling you, man, it was crazy. But he wasn’t like how he was in real life. He was, like, walking on his hind legs.
TOM: No shit. His hind legs.
KEV: Yeah, and he could talk!
TOM: He could talk, what did he say?
KEV: He started babbling all this bullshit to me, and then I fainted.
TOM: You fainted?
KEV: Yeah man, I mean I was freaking out.
TOM: And then what?
KEV: That’s the thing. I don’t remember much after that.
TOM: That’s a pretty stupid fucking story.
KEV: You’re not listening to me!
TOM: What?
KEV: I didn’t finish yet!
TOM: Well then finish!
Kev gathers himself.
KEV: ... Trying to tell a story here ...
TOM: Tell the story or I’m leaving.
KEV: Forget it.
TOM: Forget it. Jesus you are retarded, you know that?
Where’s the gun, Kev?
KEV: I thought you came to see me.
TOM: Well, I didn’t come to see you, Kev. What am I, your mother?
KEV: Dude, my mom is dead.
TOM: No she’s not.
KEV: So?
TOM: Oh my God! You have got to be the dumbest piece of shit in the entire fucking world.
KEV: Whatever, man! Did you even get the letter I sent you?
Beat.
TOM: Yeah. I got the letter.
KEV: I wrote you a fucking letter, dude.
TOM: I know, I ...
Thanks.
Thanks for the letter you sent me.
KEV: You got it?
TOM: Yeah. I got it right after my first surgery.
KEV: Yeah, I’m good at writing letters and shit.
TOM: I didn’t ask you to write me.
KEV: I know you didn’t. I ain’t no faggot.
TOM: I didn’t say you were.
KEV: I wrote you a letter, man! I mean, I saw what happened to you. Do you even remember? Do you even remember that tiger biting your hand off?
TOM: I remember enough.
KEV: Well, fuckin-A! That was some crazy shit! I don’t exactly think that’s like normal. Even for war and shit.
I just ...
I felt bad, you know? For you, I mean.
I was glad to kill that tiger. I was glad I got to save your life, Tommy.
You’re my good buddy. That’s what people do when they have a friend and shit.
TOM: Well, thanks.
KEV: Don’t mention it.
We’re partners, you know? We been through battle together, Tommy.
TOM: Do you know where you are, Kev?
KEV: The war, man.
TOM: No, I mean here.
KEV: Hospital.
TOM: They think you’re crazy.
KEV: I ain’t crazy.
TOM: You weren’t attacked by no Iraqi from under the bed either.
KEV: You weren’t even there.
TOM: You’re going nuts.
KEV: No man, I’m cool.
TOM: Gulf War Syndrome, you little bitch.
KEV: I do not!
TOM: You are fucked, man.
KEV: You don’t really have a great bedside manner, you know what I’m saying Tommy?
TOM: They got you on suicide watch.
KEV: That’s not true.
TOM: Yeah they do.
KEV: Bullshit, man! If they did, they wouldn’t be leaving sharp objects and shit around, you know? They wouldn’t leave sharp objects around my bed for me to find!
TOM: What are you talking about?
KEV: I’m talking about the tiger!
TOM: The tiger is dead!
KEV: He’s not, Tommy. He’s right here.
TOM: Where.
KEV: Here. In this room. He hangs out here all the time. He’s here right now, Tommy.
Tom starts to leave.
KEV: (starts to cry) Tommy. Don’t leave.
You’re my best friend.
TOM: I am not your friend.
KEV: Yes you are. You are, man. And I need you, okay? I’m so scared. He’s everywhere, you know? Everywhere I look is that stupid fucking tiger.
TOM: Well, that’s your psycho problem, Kev. Not mine.
Now, I have some gold left that I have to get before I leave here and if I don’t get the gun back from you, I’m gonna kill you. Understand?
Tom exits.
Tiger stands near Kev.
KEV: Aw shit, man.
TIGER: Nice guy.
KEV: Shut up.
TIGER: I just remembered something: sixteen years ago I killed two children.
A little girl and a little boy. Sister and brother.
KEV: Fucking dead-ass ghost motherfucker.
Just hanging around, trying to make everyone think I’m some crazy-ass piece-of-shit soldier.
TIGER: This was back in the Sunderbans, in West Bengal.
Home! The only place these crazy stripes actually camouflage me.
KEV: I’m sorry! Okay? I’m sorry I shot you!
TIGER: I’m telling you, for the most part, I’m very shy! I like to sit back and wait for something to walk by so I can kill it and eat it. I’m a simple guy with simple tastes.
KEV: You know what, man? I wrote my bro
ther about you. He said you’re just a figment of my imagination and shit. He said you were just one of those fucked-up things about being in war. So what’s up now? You don’t even exist, bitch! Except for me! Except for me.
TIGER: Anyhow, the two children had strayed away from their village. The girl was collecting wood or something. I watched them curve around a corner. I was absolutely still. The little boy, at one point, turned and looked directly at me, into my eyes. But he didn’t register the significance. He never did.
KEV: You know what though? Fuck Tommy. My brother is a hundred times better than Tommy. If I was on suicide watch, then they wouldn’t’ve left shit behind that I could ... you know, shit like this?
Kev lifts his mattress up and takes out a large, sharp piece of metal, like an old knife or scrap metal.
KEV: Shit like this!
TIGER: I was hungry. They were food.
KEV: If you don’t get the fuck out of my head, bitch, I will kill us both. Don’t think I won’t do it. I killed you once, I’ll kill you again!
TIGER: And I caused untold misery to the parents of those children.
But what could I do? I’m a tiger.
KEV: Get. Out. Of. My. Head!
TIGER: It wasn’t cruel. It was lunch!
A basic primordial impulse isn’t cruel!
But here’s what I’m wondering:
What if it is?
What if my every meal has been an act of cruelty? What if my very nature is in direct conflict with the moral code of the universe? That would make me a fairly damned individual.
After all, lunch usually consists of the weak, the small, the stupid, the young, the crippled. Because they’re easier to kill.
KEV: You want my hand? You want to eat my hand, just like you did Tommy? Here! Maybe then you’ll leave me alone, just like you leave Tommy alone!
Kev starts cutting his wrist. Trying not so much to slit his wrist, as to actually cut his hand off.
TIGER: I’m guilty! That’s why I’m stuck here. I’m being punished.
But you’d think the twelve years in a zoo, caged, never hunting, never killing, never breaking God’s ridiculous law . . . you’d think I would have atoned for my tigerness. But maybe that’s my way out of here. Assuming God exists, and assuming this punishment has a reason, I have to atone. I need you tell me: How do I do it?
KEV: Eat it, take it. Eat my fucking hand, I don’t want it!
TIGER: I don’t want your hand. I want your help.
KEV: I’ll get a new one like Tommy. Fucking Robocop and everything.
